Wedding Tears, Funeral Tears
Chapter Two: A Man Can’t Fly
The voice in my head revelled in the feeling of life, which now nudged at my heart. My chest was constricted. I wanted grief, happiness, anything that wasn’t nothingness.
I wanted the memory back. I wanted to know how to find my brother. If he was alive, I knew I would be alright. I would ache, and burn, and feel the crushing of my heart when the penny dropped that Morticia had been ripped from existence. But I would live. I would feel.
Although my life would still be long gone with Tisha, my heart and mind would be mine, and would suffer like they were meant to.
I had to find him.
I realised now “ that was why I was here.
Voldemort still had a hard gaze fixed on me, but I wasn’t looking into his eyes any more. Foolish, I was. Foolish. All my precautions now seemed weak, pathetic, but I needed to stay. There was no other way.
“What can you possibly hope to offer me?” Voldemort demanded, his voice soft, tone of pure ice. “What can“”
“I“”
“Silence,” he hissed. I obeyed. “Explain what a lowly vermin of Dumbledore’s pathetic ranks could hope to give the Dark Lord. How could you possibly be useful to me, in any way?” Nothing. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could give. I had no skills, no power. Just information.
Fight. Run. Break away, you fool.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Voldemort interrupted before I had begun.
“Why should I not just take the information from you?” he asked. Had my mind not still been fogged, I may have found this terrifying. “Then I would not have to worry about ensuring your loyalty. I would not have to grant you the honour of serving me.” There was another pause, and I took in a breath to speak. “Well?”
“Nothing,” I told him simply. “I have nothing.” I couldn’t promise accurate information “ I wasn’t sure I would tell Voldemort if I had a choice anyway, there was no way I would or could spy on the Order, and there was, in short, nothing at all special about me.
I couldn’t even promise loyalty.
Voldemort laughed. There was no amusement in his laugh, although I wasn’t quite sure he was capable of anything so real and human anyway.
“Honesty,” he said, and then, without warning, “Crucio.”
I had never felt anything like it before. For several long seconds, all I felt was pain; all I knew was pain. The voice in my head was completely silenced, as my entire being was taken over.
Pain. Hurt. Burning. Tearing. Needles. Knives.
Every fibre that made up what I was suddenly got torn up into a million pieces, and every nerve was shattered. It was raw. Undiluted. There was no escape.
When I could see again, I found myself curled at Voldemort’s feet. Like an animal.
“Loyalty can be developed,” he informed, without a hint of mercy in tone, and I knew the feeling that perhaps motivated the Death Eaters to become so hideously, repulsively obedient. This, in their eyes, must be worse.
I stood hastily, ignoring the aching that still afflicted my body.
The pain was unbearable, and down this path there was undoubtedly more to come.
It doesn’t matter. Find him.
:oOo:
Voldemort appeared to have lost interest in me, or something. I thought perhaps he was finished, that he had reached his conclusion, and it struck me how premature it was, especially considering how useless I had been to him so far. However, apparently I was worth one more flick of the wand.
“Aperio.”
The spell cast very faded blue light, not at me, but to the ground, right under my feet. I didn’t understand.
Move. Run.
The ground felt liquid for a moment, and then, all of a sudden, simply disappeared. It was a hole.
I quickly lost sight of Voldemort and the Death Eaters as I fell down. I don’t know how deep it was, or even how long I fell for, but it was like I had left my insides behind, up on the surface.
Then, I landed.
The sound it made when I fell on the ground was possibly the clearest moment so far, like the thump made when fighters were killed in battle. For several moments, I thought that perhaps that was the situation, although surely I had honour no where near that of a fallen warrior. I lay there, waiting for everything to be explained to me. In death.
It wasn’t, though, and I took that to mean that I was alive. Death was many things, but complicated, I was sure, was not one of them.
I closed my eyes, and focused my attention, and tried to apparate.
Nothing happened.
And that was really fair enough, considering that if there was no anti-apparation precaution, I would have splinched myself anyway.
Shakily, I tried to move, and found that somehow I was able. One shoulder was hurt, broken or sprained; I didn’t have the heart to find out, but I knew I could barely move that arm. My body ached, from the fall and from the Cruciatus curse, but I rose. That was what mattered.
When I had gotten to my feet, I looked up to the hole I had fallen though.
It was gone.
The darkness was absolute. The silence was absolute. The only senses I could use were touch and taste, and even then what was there but pain, and the metallic and foreboding taste of blood? I reached for my wand, but found it was gone. What was I meant to do? Was I here only to die?
Escape.
“I don’t understand,” I said, pointlessly to the darkness.
Then I shouted it.
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND!”
My voice echoed. At least there was sound to keep me company. The echoes caused some cog in my brain to begin to whir. Echoes meant walls. Walls meant solid objects, and the possibility of there being something in here, something useful. Something to get me out alive.
Carefully, I dropped down to my knees. This prompted the discovery of some injury in my left knee cap. I payed no attention though, of course, and simply tried not to use that or my damaged right shoulder when I crawled forward blindly.
Escape.
The ground was gritty “ probably dirt “ and it was all uneven. I crawled for several minutes before reaching the bare wall. It was dirt, too, but harder. Rocky clay. Clenching the muscles that felt they still could work, I used the wall to push myself to my feet once more, and as a consequence hit my head squarely against a torch poking out the side of the wall. As soon as I reached up to touch it, the thick wooden stick ignited, and the whole cave was bathed in light.
For several moments, I squinted in the brightness, but my eyes adjusted eventually. I resisted the urge to inspect my wounds. That would do no good. The cave was plain and empty, save for one other torch on the far wall. The roof was too far away to be seen with my limited light.
I realised, at this point, how lucky I must be to have come out of that fall still able to move at all.
Automatically, I began to limp heavily in the direction of the other torch, not sure of the good it would do but wanting to do something. I had taken very few steps, however, when what appeared to be a black cloud formed, right in front of my face. Shocked, I almost teetered backwards, but managed to remain upright.
If only I had used the good leg to steady myself.
The black cloud seemed to be made of smoke, swirling of its own accord.
“Hello?” I called, though I could see with my own eyes that the cave was empty. “Is someone here?”
Nothing happened, save for the black cloud spinning faster. It was moving, forming shapes “ letters.
‘No.’
I frowned at the black smoke.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked it pointedly. The two shapes drifted together, to become a shapeless swirl before the black smoke split once more into letters.
‘Prove your claims.’
“What claim “ I didn’t make any claims!” I argued. Apparently, the black smoke did not accept contradictions. “Okay,” I said to it after a moment of silence had passed, “How?” A few moments later, the smoke had formed a cryptic answer.
‘Live.’
“Down here?” I asked. This was no place to live, especially without a wand.
‘No.’
“Then “ then what am I supposed to do?” I demanded from the black smoke. It was like a guide with no answers.
‘Prove your claims.’
“I told you!” I cried back, as the pain from my shoulder became harder and harder to ignore. “I didn’t“” I covered my eyes for a moment, trying to think. “What did I claim?”
‘Determination.’
“So “ so I’m meant to be determined,” I clarified incredulously, “and live, but not down here?”
‘Prove your claims.’
“Right,” I said, fighting the urge to lash out against anything, though of course there was nothing here to lash out at. “Right.” Had I been able to pace, I probably would. “You know, no matter how much determination he has, a man can’t fly.” I stared at the word. “But…” Hoping for the best, I reached forward to touch the black smoke, and for a moment all I felt was a warm tickling sensation from it. Then, however, it sort of seized up, grew much hotter, and then, apparently, exploded.
The whole cave was cast into darkness once more. All I could see was my torch, and even then I could only see it when it was drawn close to my face. The cloud had been some sort of darkness powder. For several moments, I just stood there, in the dark, alone.
Determination.
I continued, as originally I had planned, to move forward, towards where I remembered the other torch to be.
When I reached it, the second torch lit up just as the first had, but the room still remained consumed by the darkness. All I could see was the firm, clay wall.
Determination.
“I’m meant to be determined,” I repeated once again to myself, “and live, but not down here.”
Nervously, I looked up towards the invisible ceiling, and then back at the wall, then reached forwards with one of the torches, and used the dull end to dig out some of the clay. It was firm, somehow. I pulled on the hole, as hard as I could. It barely budged from my weight. That couldn’t be a coincidence, right?
That’s it. You’ve cracked. Not only are you talking to yourself, but you’re thinking of climbing this wall. In your condition.
Ignoring the voice in my head, despite the idea that the fact that I had a voice in my head supported that same voice’s theory that I’d gone completely mad, I dug two more holes, and took a deep breath, lodging the dull ends of the two torches into the wall. Then, I fitted my good foot neatly into the lower notch, and pulled my weight up, unable to stop myself from making a noise as I put the pressure onto my wounded shoulder.
It worked though.
Determination.
If only I’d come up with something else. Something easier. I’m alright at duelling “ I should have tried that instead. I raised my left foot into the next hole, and heaved myself up, feeling tears form in my eyes. I clenched my jaw and made another notch above me. I could feel blood “ hot blood “ running down my shin.
With another pained grunt, I pulled myself up once more.
The climb proved almost beyond me, and the strength I had to muster just for that one more step felt like my last, every step I took. By the time I had reached the top, I was numb with the exertion and the pain. The ceiling was flat and firm above my head, but somehow I knew what to do. There was only one option.
I shouted at nothing in particular as I hit at the ceiling with one of the torches. Slowly, it began to fall away, into my hair, and my clothes, and my eyes; and when I heard the larger chunks of clay hit the ground, the sound of my falling that same distance came to mind, and felt I would be sick. If I fell again, I would not survive it, that was for sure. Or perhaps Voldemort was watching, and would have stopped my fall just in time to get me back to land and go to ‘the trouble’ of torturing me for information.
When the ceiling had all come down, I climbed the final feet up onto the surface, and fell onto the grass when I had emerged. It was cold, but the feeling was welcome to my aching body.
I only just managed to suck in one lungful of fresh, night air before passing out, right there and then, not a moment too late.
It’s over.
:oOo:
Suddenly, I was awake.
Sleep…
I was in exactly the same position, face-down in the grass. In fact, the only change I could feel was the numbness having ebbed away, allowing a dull, throbbing pain to surface. I groaned, and my voice was coarse and raspy; my mouth and throat felt dry.
You should be asleep…
And then, much less distinguishable was the feeling that I had been awoken at a time that was, by far, premature. Under most circumstances, if I was this exhausted I would simply be left to sleep, at least for a while. This time, however, I could tell I had awoken from my unconsciousness after a very short time “ minutes, at most.
Awoken “ but that means…
“Stand.”
The very last sight I wanted to see when I tilted my head up, was the mighty figure of Lord Voldemort, towering up towards the dark sky while I, once again, could barely rise after having collapsed on the ground at his feet. But what else could I have expected?
“I’m weary of these delays,” Voldemort hissed, an edge of irritation in his tone. My injuries, gone unheeded, had become much more grievous with my climb, and yet ignoring the unfairness “ the injustice “ and obeying seemed the most sensible of options, even if my knee felt as if it could give way at any moment. Obedience, in my state, was better than the Cruciatus Curse, and was almost always better than death. “I said I am weary,” pronounced Voldemort more aggressively, “of these delays!” I took a shaky breath.
“I’m standing,” I told him foolishly. I’m sure, had I taken a second longer to process his statement, I would have found myself writhing on the ground once more. “Sorry “ I mean, I’m sorry,” I corrected myself hastily when the situation had clicked. “Forgive me.”
“Give me your right arm,” commanded Voldemort, clearly used to giving orders.
What?
“What?” I asked defensively. I needed that arm. Voldemort seemed to gain some kind of perverse pleasure from my exhaustion-induced stupidity.
“The Dark Lord has decided that you may be put to use in his service,” Voldemort told me. “Your arm.”
Upon attempting to actually move my right arm, I discovered that independent mobility was completely impossible. So, pathetically, I presented my arm, using the opposite hand to hold it up. When Voldemort didn’t react, I was reminded of what was actually going to happen, and pulled the sleeve of my robe aside. When had it gotten torn?
Lord Voldemort firmly placed two fingers where, I knew, I would be marked. He drew his wand and rested the tip upon his own fingers. I bit the tip of my tongue firmly in anticipation of yet more pain, as he muttered some barely audible spell.
Save for the coolness of his fingers, I felt nothing.
Voldemort raised his head now, to look to his ring of Death Eaters, then walked surely into the centre, leaving me on the outside, arm unmarked. Apparently understanding, the anonymous, cloaked servants parted so a place was now left open. My place in Voldemort’s circle of loyal followers. Just the thought made me shiver, but I tried to hide it.
Run. Run now.
I glanced at the empty spot, not sure whether to take it. After going to so much trouble in his test, why would being initiated as a Death Eater be so easy? Even to my confused and befuddled brain, it didn’t make sense.
The process, predictably, grew more complicated, of course. It had to grow more complicated. After a small period in which nothing happened at all, a spark lit itself, like the simple flame of a candle, where I was meant to stand. Slowly, it grew into a magical fire, and didn’t stop growing until it was at least as tall as me “ probably taller. The flames leapt and jumped, unnatural. The fire seemed almost green.
Run now!
Now, the path was clear before me. Just five steps “ five steps at most, and less if I moved quickly “ and I would be a Death Eater. Choosing to simply try not to think about it, I closed the space between me and the fire very hastily. One more step “ one more would do it.
“Take your place,” Voldemort’s voice said to me, although I couldn’t see past the brightness of the fire. Under any other circumstances, I would probably ask if it was going to hurt. Today, I didn’t want to know. “Have faith.” It wasn't comforting, or supportive, nor anything vaguely resembling such aid. Everything was a test in Voldemort’s ranks. I limped into the fire.
It hurt.
Run, escape… No more of this. No more pain.
The voice in my head wasn’t silenced as it had been when Voldemort had used the Cruciatus Curse on me, and I knew in this situation it would not be a good idea to fall. The fire burned, and I could have sworn I was burning away with it. In my mind’s eye, I could see myself deteriorating, melting, becoming a pile of ash.
Get away. Get away now, it hurts!
I closed my eyes tightly as my skin seared, and bowed my head, keeping every muscle I thought I could use clenched tight. As if that would make a difference.
It hurts…
The fire did not last forever, no matter how it felt, and when it faded and died I had not been reduced to ash. Though I thought I had run out of moisture through sweat and tears in the cave, around my eyes was wet and cold. I felt tingly all over, although that could very easy have been from blood loss, and just one part of my skin still stung with fiery heat. I opened my eyes carefully, and raised my right forearm with my left hand.
The Dark Mark burned black against the paleness of my skin.
:oOo:
Shocked, I could barely comprehend this. Me: Gideon Prewett, harmless fool, and newly initiated Death Eater, serving the evillest man who ever lived. It was a nightmare. Wherever I was living, it was not reality.
Voldemort raised one hand, and, understanding this command, the Death Eaters “ the rest of the Death Eaters “ apparated away. Of course, I had not considered that their business must have been discussed when I was in the hole. Voldemort soon left also, leaving me alone without explanation, in the dark. My robes were filthy with blood and dirt, my head was spinning and everything ached in some way or another. The Dark Mark on my arm still burned dully, like a candle was being held a little too close.
I spotted my wand in the grass, near where I had been standing when the ground had opened up and swallowed me into darkness. Nervously, and painfully, I limped over and picked it up, before apparating twenty feet away from the spot. I never wanted to be in that hole again.
Sleep.
I didn’t know what to do though. Where was I supposed to go? Was I supposed to check in to St. Mungo's? Even if I hadn’t become a Death Eater this wouldn’t be an option. St. Mungo’s, of course, was where Morticia had worked. Half the people there knew her, and most of them would recognise me. The last thing I should get now were condolences.
I didn’t deserve their sympathy.
And where else was there? The home I had so desperately avoided, filled with Tisha’s clothes, and memories of her, her belongings, her photos, her scent…? Fabian’s empty house, my mother’s house, Molly’s “ everywhere was out of the question.
Abandoning the prospect of finding a home to stay at, I apparated to a safe point in the Leaky Cauldron. Here, at least, in the darkness of the night and of the bar, I would be alone and endangering no one. There were very few customers there “ two quiet, pale looking fellows who were undoubtedly vampires, and several Ministry workers who had obviously either worked late or were on their breaks from the night shift.
I had forgotten the sight I must have been “ bloody and pale, covered in grime “ but the barman, thankfully, did not object to my patronage. I sat in one of the little booths at the back and grunted as I lifted my bad leg up onto the cushioned bench next to the wall. In the shadows, I could barely be seen. I was anonymous.
Like a Death Eater.
The barman, Tom, didn’t seem to recognise me like this, for which I was glad. He gave me a tall glass of “ well, something anyway; it wasn’t as if I could really taste the stuff “ and went back to the bar. I just sat there, cradling my mangled right arm, the sleeve raised just enough to reveal my mark. It still burned. I wondered whether it would ever stop.
Gingerly, I rubbed my thumb over it. The skin there wasn’t hot, but the mark wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how long I lived. The skull seemed almost alive, like a presence, a presence branded on me for all eternity.
Why? Why would you do this?
“I don’t know,” I told the voice in my head. Several of the men at the bar glanced towards my dark corner, but apparently decided they didn’t want to know either. Left alone, I stared at the mark, glaring at me, like it was taunting me. “I don’t know why…”
Of course, I clearly remembered what had happened; sitting there at the bar, staring at the brand on my arm I could recall the events that had led to my being at the gathering.
I had been a mess “ a complete mess, shifting from one place to another. I hadn’t slept properly for weeks, only closing my eyes when they could no longer stay open. I couldn’t stand to see nothing, to hear nothing. Every time I did, in my mind I heard her voice “ their voices. Two of the three most important people in the world to me were gone.
I had awoken on the couch at Headquarters, restless. My anticipation was thick, almost tangible. Six days earlier, I had begun tracking Death Eater movements and meetings, trying to find something “ anything “ starting with where Fabian had been supposed to meet Dearborn. I didn’t even know why I was doing it. All the evidence “ patterns, eavesdropped conversations and the like “ had led me to a meeting that would take place on that very night.
All along, I suppose I had the crazy idea in my head that I’d try to become a Death Eater, and then use my position to find out what had happened to Fabian. I didn’t ever acknowledge it, though. Who would dare to articulate such a plan, to seriously consider it along with the dreadful fate it would undoubtedly lead to? I never really thought I would try it, let alone that it would work. Surely something would stop me along the way.
It hadn’t though. Unable to ignore the information I had and without anything else to do with it, I apparated to the meeting place. I hadn’t even consciously decided to become a Death Eater before coming face to face with Voldemort, and yet here I was. Doomed to be forever associated with him “ until my death and beyond the grave.
It was doom. Really. Doom.
The little skull stared endlessly back at me, about as sympathetic as Lord Voldemort himself.
I wasn’t even aware of it when, despite the pains of my body and mind, my eyelids began to droop.
Prewett’d: Wedding Tears, Funeral Tears by Mind_Over_Matter
Chapter Notes: This chapter is made up of the third, fourth, fifth and half of the sixth drabbles.